Bored in a city of excess The mirror captures his spine Curved like a sickle in excess Self pity, his faults become my own He vomits endlessly into our carpet, Something in it is shining My eyes are pools of blood I don't turn to look at him He's burnt out matchsticks He leaves blisters A map of the lost doesn't have him on it Scars I dreamt disappear upon walking We're walking broken soldiers in the city we destroyed He doesn't believe in ghosts but he looks in the mirror The map of the lost finds him right here